


we've reached our climax

by pendragoh



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Calum's blonde streak, Hints of Hair Pulling Kink, M/M, Niall is in like one scene, Pining, ZALUMSQUAD, hints of breathplay, who is actually going to read this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:06:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2213442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendragoh/pseuds/pendragoh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I know.” Zayn says, rucking up Calum’s shirt so he can press a wet kiss to his hipbone. “I figured since you looked so good as a mini-me, I’d give you a reward.”</p><p>Or, Calum dyes his hair and it's a little bit of a throwback. One that Zayn is very, very fond of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we've reached our climax

**Author's Note:**

> wow i can't believe i wrote this. it's sooooo shit. but i love zayn and i love calum and they're both hella hot so of course i want them to fuck!! Z A L U M S Q U A D. this is my crack pairing whom i love so deeply.
> 
> please, this is really bad. i wrote this in about fifteen minutes. it's only been ran through spellcheck once, because i didn't want to reread it. truly horrible but with that being said!! i hope you enjoy :) if anyone reads this story, that is.

“I’m so fucking bored,” Calum groans, quickly and aggressively flipping a copy of their AP magazine cover closed. He hears the sound of paper tearing and instantly cringes. That was Luke’s copy, and despite popular belief, he is actually the one who gets more sentimental about shit like that. Luke would kill him if he found out he ripped his _precious copy_ of their favorite cover (his words, not Calum’s.)

(For a split second, maybe less, he thinks about calling up Zayn. But that’s honestly crazy, because a) Zayn’s probably not even _awake_ yet, b) why would he want to hang out with Calum on his free time, and finally c) whatever the hell it is that’s between them, it’s not serious or defined. So, yeah. That was a stupid idea.)

Michael doesn’t even spare him a glance when he shoots back, “So do something then,” choosing instead to scroll through Reddit or whatever on his phone. The bright, shining light of his screen reflects off his green eyes as he turns his face up to look at Calum. His expression is full of apathy.

“It’s not that easy!”

“Yes, it is,” Michael insists, eyes rolling back until all Calum can see is white.

“ _Miiichael_ ,” Calum whines, getting up from where he was sprawled out on their hotel floor and heading over to where Michael is sitting on the fluffy white bed sheets. He head-butts under Michael’s chin and shoves his scalp there, heaving a deep breath onto his collarbone. “I’m bored.”

“You already said that,”

“So let’s do something!” Calum says exasperatedly, and really? He’s not above begging, he really isn’t, and Michael knows this.

“Okay, fine,” Michael relents, “What do you wanna do?”

“I don’t know, I was more hoping you had something up your sleeve.”

“ _Fucking_ —” Michael huffs, pinching Calum’s side harshly; it actually really hurts because Michael never cuts his damn nails, and Calum yelps.

“What!” he yells defensively. “You’re always the mastermind!”

Michael sighs in that quick, sharp way which means he’s trying to act annoyed, when he’s really only fond. One glance up at him could see that. “Well…” he starts.

“Yes?” Calum asks eagerly, up for almost anything at this point. Seriously, his brain is going to melt soon with how bored he is.

Michael takes his phone that was lying limply on his stomach and sets it on the rusty brown nightstand next to him. He then tentatively brings his hand up to Calum’s hair, skittishly slipping his fingers into Calum’s dark hair. “I was going to dye my hair today.”

“I’m listening,” he nudges, when it didn’t sound like Michael was going to add on to his almost-suggestion.

“Would that be something you’d be interested in?” Michael asks, fingers starting a back-and-forth motion in his hair.

Calum thinks about it. On one hand, Michael has been dying his hair since he was about sixteen years old, and he’s lost quite a bit of it. His hair is very dry and rough at the ends, and the amount of products he uses in his hair increase almost monthly. On the other hand, Calum has never done anything different with his hair. In fact, he’s been fond of it since he chopped off that god-awful fringe from secondary school. It’d be a cool and new experience to do something different with his hair for once.

Plus, Calum _is_ really, really bored.

“Sure,” he shrugs, trying to seem as if he’s extremely nonchalant about the whole thing, when really he’s thinking about all the things that could go wrong. (He could leave the bleach in too long, he could go bald, he could accidentally shave his head somehow, and his eyebrows could inexplicably fall off—)

He feels Michael go stiff with what he hopes is either excitement or surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah, I’m cool with it.”

“Oh my god, Cal, this is—we have to get up and get ready, my scheduled appointment was supposed to be in an hour, I have to call Nicole— _get up_ , Calum!”

Calum may already be beginning to regret this. He may have been mind-numbingly bored, but he’s still lazy as fuck and Michael is far too happy and energetic at eleven in the morning. He grumbles his way through a shower (“She’s going to wash my hair _anyway_ , Michael” “It’s a courtesy for god’s sake, get some manners”) and breakfast, puts on a random band t-shirt and skinnies.

“You mentioned a ‘Nicole’? Who is that?” he asks Michael confusedly.

The other boy gives him a flat look, “My hair stylist, obviously.”

“What happened to Lou? We are on tour with her, you know. I thought you’d be dying to have her get her hands on your precious hair again.” Calum teases.

“I am,” Michael pouts, “but she said, and I quote, ‘I’m not putting dye on those follicles until you give them a three-month rest.’”

Calum laughs, “And are you gonna give them a ‘three-month rest’?”

“Yeah,” Michael says, surprising Calum. “Now that you’re dying your hair, I don’t feel the urge anymore,” he gives a wicked smile and turns to walk out the door.

“Hey!” Calum protests, “I’m not dying my hair any funky ass colors!” he shouts as he throws a pillow at his friend’s retreating back, Michael’s laugh trailing behind him.

-

Not to sound like a complete wimp, but Calum’s hands start to get a little sweaty as they pull up to the woman’s house.

He’s actually really nervous; he doesn’t want anything to go wrong, and he’s bitten down every question he’s thought of after Michael had snapped at him.

It’s a quaint little house, small but seems homey and warm. There are pink rose bushes lined in front of the porch, and house itself is a brilliant, calming mint green color that looks freshly painted. Calum figures if she did the job herself, then she shouldn’t fuck up his small amount of hair.

Not that painting a house is anything like coloring someone’s hair.

Michael eagerly knocks on the door while Calum is still on the porch steps, a stupid little smile on his face. He seems adorably excited to see this woman, even though they’re in Florida, so there’s a slim chance he actually knows this woman. He probably just senses the chemicals in the hair dye, or something. Michael’s weird.

The white door opens to reveal an older woman, assumedly later thirties. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and from the look Calum sneaks when he’s giving her a hug, it seems healthy and silky, not damaged at all. This sets his nerves a little at ease.

They sit down in the living room on a soft cashmere couch. “So, what are we doing today, boys?” she asks chirpily.

“I was thinking—”

“I meant it when I said no crazy colors, Michael—”

Nicole holds up her hand, her many rings glinting from the light fixture above their heads. “Hold on,” she says, “which one of you is Calum?”

“That’d be me,” Calum says, voice small. He raises a timid hand awkwardly, since he is quite shy and he’s never met this woman.

“And I’m working on your hair today, correct?”

“Yes,”

“What would _you_ like then?”

Michael grumbles a little bit, and Calum elbows him, shooting him a warning glance. But when he thinks about it…

“I don’t really know, if I’m honest.”

“You don’t know?”

“No, I don’t. I’m sorry…this was just a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

“Can I pick for you?” Michael asks, face once again bright.

“No,” Calum denies.

“Why not?” he whines, “You can trust me,”

“No, I can’t!”

“Okay, boys. Calum, since you don’t know what you want, Michael is going to pick for you.” Calum goes to protest but before he can say anything, “Michael, I will not dye his hair any unnatural colors.”

Michael’s expression drops. He visibly thinks for a moment before he nods. “That seems fair. Calum?”

Calum just nods. There’s really no other choice. If he chickens out now, Michael will laugh at him forever. Nicole might even laugh at him. He would be beyond embarrassed, so he figures he’s just going to have to grin and bear it. And buy black hair dye as soon as he can.

Nicole pats his arm, and leads him to her backyard, where she has two chairs set up, and a vanity against the wall so the mirror can lean against it. She also has some roller thing that has multiple drawers, which is where Calum assumes she keeps her ‘supplies’ or whatever the hell hair dressers call it.

He is really out of his league here.

-

At this point in time, Nicole has gone back inside to get a bunch of conditioning hair products which she says are for Calum, but he thinks she’s getting them for Michael.

Of course, this means it’s just Calum and Michael waiting outside listening to the god damn birds chirping. Calum is staring petulantly at his fingers, and Michael is giving him one of the worst death glares he’s ever received—which is saying something, because he’s _friends_ with Michael.

The thing is, Michael and Nicole have been trying to get him to look at his hair and he can’t bring himself to do it. They keep insisting it looks great, fantastic, amazing, blah blah blah but he’s too scared. What if he turns around and hates what he sees? He’ll be really bummed out, plus this will be a complete waste of money. Eventually, Nicole gave up and went inside to fetch his hair-care supplies.

He knows he’s acting like a child, and being quite insulting to Nicole, but he can’t help it.

“Does it really look okay?” Calum asks.

“ _Yes_ , Cal, for the fifth time,”

“Fine,” he relents, “turn me around.”

 Michael instantly shoots ramrod straight in his chair. “Seriously?” he asks apprehensively. Calum just nods his head meekly.

Michael must sense his hesitancy, because he at least gives him a count to three. (Except Michael’s a bitch and he counts so fast that within one second he’s facing the mirror.)

And…wow. He looks…

“Proper Jack Barakat-style,” Michael muses, a proud smile on his face.

That’s not who Calum would compare himself to. He looks vaguely familiar…he looks like—no, going there. He brings his definitely-not-shaky hand up to mess with his new hair, and smiles a little bit at his reflection in the mirror. It’s a bit drier than it used to be, but it’s still got that softness that Calum loves.

(He would never admit it, but he’s transported back to when he was sixteen years old, sitting in front of his computer watching music videos of a boy band he Does Not Like. He remembers looking at a certain boy, and thinking, _his skin is my color_. He remembers thinking the boy was effortlessly cool, and how he wanted to be like him more than anything. He remembers—)

“You like it, right?”

Calum jumps, because suddenly Nicole is right next to him. He must have zoned out daydreaming about he who shall not be named.

“Yeah, it looks great,” he says honestly, smiling kindly at her. “Thanks so much.”

She then goes on and on about the products she’s chosen for him, when to use them, such and such. He tunes her out because her spiel is not for him; anyway, it’s for Michael who is listening intently even though Nicole’s gaze is actually on Calum.

As they’re driving towards the stadium now, Calum once again has nerves bubbling in his stomach. He wonders how everyone will react. He wonders how _fans_ will react. Most of all, he wonders how _Zayn’s_ going to react, if he will treat Calum like some poser who’s trying anything he can to be just like him.

-

Calum shoves a snapback on his head as soon as he jumps out of the car, not ready for fans to see just yet. He knows they probably will anyway, they’re sensing like that, but he’s giving it his best shot. He takes pictures with a couple them, and keeps one hand on his head when someone tries to steal his hat.

They get inside and Calum instantly heads to the dressing room, choosing not to stop and talk with anyone like he usually does. He kind of just wants to—

But, of course, the world hates him, so when he’s two steps from entering the safety zone, Niall walks right into him. And because why not, it knocks his snapback right off of his head.

“Sorry, mate,” Niall says, and then Calum hopes a little because maybe he didn’t— “Oi! You did somethin’ new with your hair!”

“Yeah…” Calum confirms cautiously, because if anyone is going to see the similarities, it’s gonna be him.

“You look like…”

“I know,”

Niall levels him with a Look, then. Calum hates those Looks. They make him feel very exposed and naked. Which isn’t usually a problem in the physical sense, but when it’s used figuratively, he gets uncomfortable. “Well, it looks great.”

“Thanks,” he says quickly, shuffling past Niall and shutting the door to their dressing room. He probably seemed extremely rude just then. He sighs.

His bandmates come in and they all compliment him. None of them seem to notice, which Calum was expecting. Out of his band, he’s the closest with Zayn, if not the only one who’s actually, proper friends with him.

 _Friends._ Nothing else. Of course not.

At about fifteen minutes before the show starts, Calum’s scrolling through his feed when he sees a picture of himself from today. He instantly snorts when he sees it, because his snapback did fuck all to cover up his highlights. When he refreshes his timeline, he instantly sees the same picture in ten different colorings and sizes. It’s only when he checks his mentions does he see the comparisons.

 _This_ he was expecting. He knew they would catch on lightning fast, as they always do. He wants to tweet some of them and tell them he had no idea what was going to happen to his hair, but he knows they wouldn’t believe him. Plus, that would imply defensiveness, which would peak a lot of fans’ interests.

So, he takes a selfie.

-

The show is _amazing_. Seriously, it might be his favorite so far on this tour. The crowd was fantastic and loud and fun. They had so much energy, and they brought Calum’s mood up and made him forget about his ‘problem,’ if you could even call it that.

He’s about to jump on Luke’s back, had begun his running start, even, when he feels a harsh tug on his wrist. All of a sudden, Calum’s vision goes black and he blinks a few times to get the bright spots out of his eyes. He instantly worries that a fan has breached their security and has captured him as a hostage—they probably want him so he could find Luke, or a member of One Direction.

Turns out, he already has a member of One Direction with him. And it’s his favorite.

“I saw your hair,” Zayn says simply.

Calum’s brain short circuits. _Fuck_! What if Zayn kidnapped him just so he could tell him how shitty his hair looks? Zayn would never be intentionally cruel, though.

“Oh,” Calum breathes tentatively, “what do you think?”

“I think it’s fucking hot,” is all Zayn says before he’s smashing their mouths together, their teeth clacking painfully. It’s fast and rough, and sort of painful, but Calum has never felt better in his entire life. When their tongues tangle together, he tastes blood but he doesn’t know whose it is.

Zayn brings his hands up to Calum’s hair and _tugs_ as hard as he can. Calum has to break away from their kiss to let out a sharp keen, eyes squeezing shut.

“Oh, yes, don’t think I forgot about that,” Zayn mumbles in his sultry voice that never fails to make Calum weak in the knees.

All he can manage to say back is “Zayn.”

He shoves Calum to the wall by the strands of his hair, which is _just_ on this side of too-painful. He brings his hands up to Zayn’s elbows and squeezes. Calum’s eyes roll back into his head as Zayn starts pressing wet, sloppy kisses up and down his jaw, leading lower until he reaches the juncture between his shoulder and neck.

“You have no idea,” Zayn states, seemingly breathless. His hands drift down to Calum’s shoulders, fingertips touching his collarbones. He rests his forehead against Calum’s neck, eyes closed. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“That’s my line,” Calum insists, kind of joking but kind of not.

Zayn laughs, though, which is never a bad thing. He gives Calum a sweet peck to his lips before he drops to his knees, and—

“What?” he questions audibly.

Zayn gives a little bite to the finger he has in his mouth (when did that get there?) “Shhh,” he whispers seductively, “let me do this for you.”

“But you’ve never—”

“I know.” Zayn says, rucking up Calum’s shirt so he can press a wet kiss to his hipbone. “I figured since you looked so good as a mini-me, I’d give you a reward.”

Calum swears his breathing stops—and it does, apparently, since Zayn rubs his stomach and says, “Breathe, baby,”

“Okay,” he consents, because who in the fuck would refuse a blowjob from Zayn Malik?

It seems that’s what Zayn was waiting for, because as soon as the word falls out of Calum’s mouth, Zayn’s hands are at his belt buckle, removing it with finesse. He shoves his trousers and pants down to his knees, and then gives his the head of his cock a little kiss, before he tongues at the slit, peeking up at Calum through his ridiculous eyelashes.

It takes all of Calum’s willpower not to come right then, because _god_ , Zayn is so hot. He wants this to last, though, because he knows Zayn doesn’t like to give blowjobs, so who knows when he’ll get this opportunity again?

Zayn lowers himself to the base of Calum’s cock, breathing heavily through his nose. His lips are stretched around his girth, temporarily stained red from the harsh kissing they did earlier. He pulls off, gasping for breath, before he goes down to lick at Calum’s balls, sucking each one into his mouth, while still jacking Calum with his free hand.

He hears vague shouts of “Where’s Zayn?” and that’s when he remembers oh yeah, One Direction haven’t done their set yet. He looks down at where Zayn is pressing kisses up and down his cock, and raises his eyebrow questioningly, hands leaving Zayn’s hair.

Zayn just shrugs, careless as always, and mentions “Better finish off then, Cal,” before taking Calum all the way. His nose is pressed against the bottom of Calum’s stomach, mixing in with his pubic hair, which is hot in a way that makes Calum feel gross for liking it. Zayn’s throat constricts and clenches around his cock, his eyes visibly watering, and that’s when Calum loses it.

He climaxes in long ropes of come, shoulders heaving up and down because he’s breathing so hard.

Zayn kisses the tip of his dick, does up his jeans, and struggles a little to his feet, a hand massaging his throat. This was extremely irresponsible, really, because Zayn has to perform right now. Literally. His band mates are outside of this closet looking for him.

But all Zayn does his clear his throat about three times before he sings a little note and asks, “Good?”

Calum doesn’t know if Zayn was wondering about his voice or the blowjob, but the answer is the same for both questions: “Perfect.”

Zayn smiles in this special, fond way he smiles at Calum sometimes. He kind of hates it. It makes him think that there’s hope; that something could be there, someday. He knows that’s irrational, though, which is why he hates _that_ smile.

Zayn doesn’t say anything. He just pecks Calum on the mouth and thanks him. Before he leaves, he turns around and asks Calum to stay until their set is done because, and he quotes,

“I wanna be with you tonight.”

-

For the first time in a regrettably long time, Calum watches One Direction’s show from the sidelines.

There really is nothing better, and he did it for almost every concert during Take Me Home. Now he’s just been so busy with band stuff, he’s never really had time.

They are so talented; each and every one of them, but of course, Calum can’t keep his eyes off Zayn. He’s so beautiful under the stage lights, all the pinks and blues and yellows accentuating his facial features flawlessly. Calum wishes, more than anything, that he could touch that face whenever he wanted. ( _I wish I was beside you_.)

Zayn’s voice is something he never tires of listening to, either, because who gets sick of smooth, chocolaty velvet? Bonus points as well, because Zayn’s words are extra slurred tonight, which only happens when he’s turned on. _Calum_ did that.

As soon as the show ends, he’s backstage, waiting for Zayn impatiently. Excuse him for being crude, but—he wants to get fucked, and he wants to get fucked by Adonis.

When Zayn comes to get him, high off of adrenaline, he kisses Calum straight on the lips for a good five minutes. Calum is pleasantly flustered (shut up.) He’s never seen Zayn like this before; he’s so free with his kisses and affection tonight. It’s a whole new side to Zayn that he automatically loves, just like all his other parts.

Not that he’s in love with Zayn, because he’s not.

They get back to the hotel, and this time it’s _Calum_ telling _Zayn_ to keep his hands to himself, that people will see. It’s a first. Normally it’s Calum who is drunk on Zayn; high off of whatever Zayn will give him. (He’s so far up Zayn’s ass…)

Once in the hotel room, however, Calum loses his clothes in about five seconds flat. He’s very good at taking off his clothes. If the whole music thing hadn’t worked out, and then footie after that, maybe he could’ve been a stripper. He’s borderline a stripper now.

He kisses Zayn, because he’s been given permission. He kisses Zayn with all of the power he has in his lips, licks into his mouth, tasting light and happiness and _sex_. Calum tugs at Zayn’s shirt, until he realizes it has buttons, which are easily removable.

At least he _thought_ buttons were easily removable. He’s having trouble getting them off, for some odd reason. He’s also starting to get frustrated, because Zayn’s trousers and pants are gone, and he’s wasting time. He makes an aggravated sound instead of a moan when Zayn gives attention to that special spot behind his ear, and that’s when Zayn pulls back.

“Having trouble, babe?” he teases, before he grabs Calum’s hands, skinny thumbs rubbing his protruding knuckles. “Baby, why are your hands shaking?”

Oh. Calum hadn’t realized his hands were shaking. “I can’t get your fucking shirt open,” he huffs angrily, “it’s wasting time.”

“Is there a timer on this?”

“You always leave. I wanna get as many things done as possible,”

“I’m not leaving,” Zayn says.

“What?”

“I said, I’m not leaving,” Zayn repeats calmly.

“But…why?” Calum asks, like a fucking idiot.

“I…realized some things today,” is all the answer Zayn gives before he takes Calum by the shoulders and pushes him down of the bed.

“How do you want me?” Calum asks, hand wrapped around his cock, stroking up and down.

“Hands and knees,” Zayn orders.

Calum rolls over onto his stomach and lifts his knees so his arse is in the air. With a spark of confidence, he reaches behind himself and spreads his cheeks so Zayn can see his hole.

“Mmm, that’s pretty,” Zayn says, almost to himself, before he puts his hands over Calum’s. He links their fingers together before he leans over Calum so Zayn’s entire chest is covering his entire back. “Where’s your lube?”

Calum points to the night stand by the bed, where he put it the night before. “Why was it there?” Zayn asks, ever so perceptive. He circles his finger around Calum’s hole before slowly pushing one finger inside, and Calum clenches instinctively.

“I, ah, I fingered myself last night.”

Zayn hums, “Did you think about me?”

“I always do,” Calum moans, and there he goes again. Always going a step over the line.

Zayn doesn’t say anything, though. He only takes his finger out, before shoving another one in. Before Calum even knows it, there are four fingers in his arse and he’s writhing on the bed, begging Zayn to fuck him.

“Shh, baby,” Zayn murmurs before he removes his fingers, leaving Calum open and clenching around cold air. He whines.

He feels Zayn’s cockhead, and tries to push back against it, but Zayn suddenly has his hips in a tight grip. He’s sure there’ll be bruises there tomorrow, and he hums in satisfaction. Zayn pushes in slowly, letting him adjust before he sets a bruising pace.

It’s fast and hard, and it’s about the best fuck Calum will ever have. Zayn’s cock drags just right inside of him, the soft kisses being pressed into his shoulders contradicting the harsh thrusts he gives. He feels like he’s about to come, and he screams “ _Zayn!_ ” before the other man gets one hand into his hair and pulls, _hard_.

“Don’t come yet, okay? Wait,”

“This isn’t helping,” Calum grits out, blindly throwing his hand on top of Zayn’s.

He holds his orgasm back, though, because it’s easy to listen to Zayn. He always wants to please him. Until Zayn gets a hand wrapped around his neck, and commands, “Come.”

Calum has never come harder in his life, hand squeezing around his neck and cock pulsing in his arse.

The only sound in the room is their harsh breaths, Zayn’s stomach brushing against his lower back every time he breathes in. He gingerly pulls out and Calum winces. It’s going to be a bit sore there for a few days, he knows.

When Zayn comes back into bed, he presses a light smooch into the first knob of Calum’s spine. He makes his way all the way down until Calum can feel his warm, wet breath on his hole.

“No, Zayn,” he manages to deny weakly.

He gently taps Calum’s hip to get him to turn over, cleaning him with a warm flannel. Zayn looks oddly shy and uncertain, and it’s incredibly endearing. Everything Zayn does in endearing, somehow.

“Wanna cuddle?” he asks.

Calum pushes past the surprise and absolutely _beams_ at Zayn, but hell yeah he wants to cuddle with Zayn. He nods his head and turns onto his side, fully expecting Zayn to drape around his back, but Zayn surprises him. He pushes his back into Calum’s chest and tugs on Calum’s arm.

When Calum raises his eyebrow, Zayn laughs, “Fuck you, I love being little spoon.”

They sit there in silence for a while. Calum is over the moon. He cannot believe this is happening, he’s actually cuddling with Zayn Malik…he never thought that’d happen. Even when they started this…thing, they’ve never cuddled before.

There’s one little thing in the back of Calum’s mind, though.

“I didn’t actually ask to look like you, y’know.”

“What?” Zayn asks sleepily.

“My hair,” he explains, “I had no idea what they were doing to my hair. It was a surprise. There’s no denying the similarities though.”

“I meant it when I said it looked hot,” Zayn says, “There’s a reason why I got it done in the first place.”

There’s quiet for a couple more moments, until—

“I did look up to you, though. As pathetic as that sounds.”

Zayn’s eyes are wide open now. With what, Calum doesn’t know. “It’s not pathetic,”

“I always thought you were so cool, even before I knew who you really were. So I don’t mind looking like you.”

“Thank you,” Zayn breathes, before he’s kissing Calum. They kiss and they kiss and they kiss, and Calum thinks he might know what the word _intimacy_ means now.

“Zayn?” he asks, and Zayn hums. “What did you mean by you’d ‘realized some things’?”

“Shh,” Zayn says, kissing his forehead before turning in his arms once again. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

-

Waking up next to Zayn in the morning…that’s another first.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! if you actually got through the whole thing... my twitter is @zalumsquad and my tumblr is subspacezayn if you would like to follow me there :)))
> 
> all mistakes are always mine. also i wanted to mention that i know calum and zayn are not the same race but they do both have colored skin. plus, cal rly hates asian jokes and if the FANS pester him about it then people in high school did maybe??? k whatevs
> 
> i beg for kudos + comments even if it's to tell me that you hate this story please i'll love you forever ok bye


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